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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761094">Count to Ten</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outlast (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Character Study, Creampie, Hair-pulling, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV First Person, haha ok cool I'm going to hell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:48:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon bargains with Eddie when he's strapped to the table. It kind of works.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>158</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Count to Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I count to ten over and over again, but you’re still there behind my eyes. The lockers are scattered this far away from the newer blocks. I can’t find many. One or two when I’m running, but I can’t stop long enough to get inside. Not until I reach a bend in the hall, this weird turn-style sort of foyer that runs into three lockers, two beat beyond recognition – but there’s another standing away from them. The third locker’s big enough.</p><p> </p><p>The climb inside is vicious and visceral in a way I can’t explain. I feel like the sole owner of the metal I grip while I hide. I feel like there’s no one else but me and Gluskin while I wait, my breath echoing back at me hoarsely from all directions. The locker smells like rust. It smells bloody and I know I’m not moving, but somehow the thing is creaking beneath me.</p><p> </p><p>My chest is twitching each time I breathe, violent shudders racking my nervous system as I attempt to keep myself completely still. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. My eyes dip from the ground where I can see through metal slats. I nervously scan the ground for shadows, and then my attention sprints up the slats to the highest one. Is there someone in front of me? No. Not that I can parse out. Gluskin isn’t here. Not yet. <em>Hopefully not ever, Lisa,</em> I think frantically.</p><p> </p><p>My wife’s concerned hazel eyes blink at me from my mind’s eye, deep wells of information I divine in drawing from. My heart breaks thinking about her, but it mends itself when I remind myself it’s her strength I need, and it’s her strength I ask for every time I think of her. Lisa’s miles and miles stronger than I could ever be. She’s the only reason I went through with sending that email in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>I didn’t think it would lead to this moment, though. I didn’t think I would end up here. It’s almost serendipitous. Or kismet, or something as or even <em>more </em>fantastical. Like a Grimm fairytale come to life, running into you again, Gluskin.</p><p> </p><p>My larynx spasms when I finally hear harsh, trampling footsteps stomp through the entryway of my hideout. I’m not thinking, but later I’ll realize that of course you would eventually find me. This is your hunting ground, and I was trapped the moment I walked down the stairs. My body starts to rock in racking shakes. I can’t process this. I have to be quiet, and still, and invisible.</p><p> </p><p>When you start to speak, I can feel a lump swell in the back of my throat, instant tears, instant dread. I’m panicking and the energy of the attack is so crushing that I reel, instantaneous. This can’t be happening. You can’t find me. You can’t grab me, not when I escaped everyone else. <em>Not when I’m so fucking close, Lisa.</em> I shuffle to the very back of the locker, exactly two more inches of space put between us. The walls feel colder, more brittle. The locker seems like a horrible cage to me now. I wish I could carve an exit with my nails and escape, but I can’t. I can’t do anything at all but succumb to the fine mist spreading over my face, invading my mouth and nose. The smell is cloying like perfume.</p><p> </p><p>A new smell waits for me when I wake up next. I don’t know exactly where I am. I don’t know exactly how long it’s been. I don’t know who I should defend myself against, or, briefly, if I’m even alive.</p><p> </p><p>But then I hear the screams, and my attention is redirected.</p><p> </p><p>I wake up again, having passed out once more. The cycle repeats itself with the stammering or the screaming or the sadism. I get a good look at a man before his head is sawed in half, the world surrounding him having erupted like a volcano with beautiful splinters of red. I drift back off into blackness.</p><p> </p><p>The next time I’m conscious it’s worse. I try, at first, to scratch an itch on my nose and discover I can’t. I can’t move my hand. I’m butterflied to a table. The table all those other men had been on? I don’t know. My desperation makes me simmer, my hysteria unrelenting. My teeth chatter so hard I feel like I’m breaking teeth.</p><p> </p><p>You come into view all too soon, Eddie Gluskin. My eyes blink, mind moving too fast and somehow not fast enough as I process what it means to feel your hand on my leg. I’m going to be dead soon. But I can’t die, now. I can’t die right now. I can’t die right now. I can’t die right now. I can’t die right now. My jaw is so tired but I work to tell you this. You need to know. Eddie, I can’t die. Please don’t kill me. I can’t die!</p><p> </p><p>On a loop my mind spins this one thought. I need you to understand. Can I reason with you? I know that my words are choppy when I speak, half of them shredded whole. I twist in my bonds, processing nothing but the urge to escape. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.</p><p> </p><p>Your hands, large and warm, pin me in place without much work. The nails of your longer fingers bite into the soft skin of my hips, around to the part of my back scarcely above my ass. I swallow, dry throat crackling around the air pushed down. I’m so afraid. I just want you to stop.</p><p> </p><p>Please, I beg softly. Please don’t hurt me.</p><p> </p><p>You must understand me for a second. It’s almost like I can see you look through me and then look at me, your eyes finally seeming to have a subject they can focus on. Your stare is no longer blind. I feel your hands tighten around my hips and groan. The pain is in the throbbing category, only getting worse the more pressure that’s applied.</p><p> </p><p>The look of lucidity slackens off of your face. I lose you again, if I ever had you in the first place. My fear returns in double time, the second wind having generated enough energy to whip electric-shock-misery throughout my chest and down into my stomach. It’s a horrible feeling. I would benefit from you killing me simply to take me away from this emotion, I think.</p><p> </p><p>Death’s smell burns in my nostrils. I cant my hips up, a last ditch effort I won’t think myself above.</p><p> </p><p>Please, I repeat in a soft voice.</p><p> </p><p>You’re lucid again. Just a moment. It’s all I need.</p><p> </p><p>The world goes white, a shower of sparks fizzing manically behind my eyes. I’m not looking at you anymore, but at the wall to my left.</p><p> </p><p>Did you slap me?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Did he slap me, Lisa?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I can feel the balls of your wrists digging into my stomach. I moan a little bit, slurring a ‘stop’ when you use too much of your strength.</p><p> </p><p>“I normally wait until after the procedure,” you murmur in my ear as you climb onto your worktable.</p><p> </p><p>I simply nod, dumbstruck. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.</p><p> </p><p>I’m flipped over on the table, my ass wrenched into the air. I’m posed for you. My hands are roped to my knees. I can’t relax my posture.</p><p> </p><p>You haven’t done anything more than touch me so far. There are scores from the knife over the backs of my thighs. But you kissed the blood back into the wounds, soothing them enough that I hardly think about it.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know what I’m thinking about. Not my wife anymore. Not escaping, either. I think I’m in shock. It must have started after you slapped me.</p><p> </p><p>I can see that you’re hard through your trousers. You aren’t trying to hide it. Your hands wander over my ass, making sweeping motions that are almost consensual in how un-intrusive they are.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for you to find a position. You line yourself up behind me, but don’t push in immediately. I’m holding my breath and it makes my lungs feel like balloons whose plastic membrane is only getting thinner. I’m about to pop from the strain.</p><p> </p><p>You wind up grunting and shuffling; disenchanted; angry. Frustration fills your veins with fire and you take it out on the closest thing: me.</p><p> </p><p>Your hand is open, palm flat and hard as you land the first harsh slap to my right ass cheek. The pain is stinging. I make a confused, startled sound and shift away.  </p><p> </p><p>“Stay still, slut!” You roar.</p><p> </p><p>One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. The next smack rains down, followed by another, and then another, and then another. The recuperation time is non-existent. All I can do is take it. I scream through the gag in my mouth. I want to fall on the floor. I want to fall right through, finally free.</p><p> </p><p>My body spasms with each fresh slap. I start shaking angrily at a point. I’m already cold and completely naked. I can’t deal with the pain. I start gutturally pleading, the words malformed but clear in their tones. Please, please, please stop.</p><p> </p><p>You slip your dick in after that. It’s one long grind in without pause. I’m shrill. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Limp beneath the rope, can’t escape. The powerlessness overtakes me with the fear and my brain floods; I fall into a state of being there with you, but not really being there at all.</p><p> </p><p>I fight when you start to build your tempo, but then quickly calm back down when you move the air with another powerful slap. It’s torture, being at both ends unable to move and unable to be still. The frustration inside me is so great that for a moment, wires are crossed. I feel my libido awaken, risen from its stunned sleep and beckoned into action. I have nowhere to go, no choice but to accept this sexual act.</p><p> </p><p>I’m being pounded without mercy and am unable to make a move against my attacker. There are tears in my eyes and, regretfully, an overwhelming amount of blood coursing to my dick. I feel sick, bile rising in phantom through my throat. The burning taste is so present I want to gag around the gag, but it’s not possible.</p><p> </p><p>Your hands tighten on my hips. You hit me again, a red welt shaped like your hand left behind. I can feel it when you smooth your skin over top. I can feel it in the throbbing all throughout my upper thigh.</p><p> </p><p>Your cock is thick. I can’t deny that. It means to split me open each time you thrust forward, hips snapping a heinous pace. I squirm left and right, but the results are miniscule, and you must like it because I hear a moan. The first one since you started raping me.</p><p> </p><p>My heart pounds so hard in my chest. I’m overwhelmed and you’re only driving yourself in harder and faster and you’re so big and all at once, I can’t keep up. Cum sprays your worktable and I pray to god that you don’t notice or that you don’t care. I think that’s true. I think you don’t care. You don’t notice.</p><p> </p><p>My asshole spasms around your cock, wringing it as if in desperation. You appreciate this, too. My hair is pulled, my head wrenched back. More than a few strands are yanked out and tears spring to my eyes anew. My body bounces against the force of your cock. I’m sensitive, and I can’t help but feel uncomfortable at a point.</p><p> </p><p>More squirming, but I try hard not to.</p><p> </p><p>You put a hand around my neck and begin to choke me. I can’t breathe but for this small wheezing gasp, and the sound I make is so weak and needy and helpless it would bolster anyone to continue choking, be they moral or not. I sounded pathetic.</p><p> </p><p>The pace you set was thrown into overdrive and I started crying in earnest. I wanted to leave. So badly, I just wanted to go. My ass hurt, my dick was sore, my body was contorted in such an unnatural position. In my right mind, I wanted it all to end.</p><p> </p><p>But I was moaning like a whore and begging without words for you to come inside me when you finally did. And I made a whore out of myself by squeezing down on you with purpose to communicate my elation.</p><p> </p><p>Like a slut. I was a slut, you turned me into a slut without thought or remorse.</p><p> </p><p>You pulled out and a small trickle of cum followed, irritating and warm. I wanted to wipe it off, but I still can’t move a muscle. One, two, three, four, five, sex, seven, eight, nine, ten.</p>
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